


In My Daughter's Eyes

by blak_cat



Category: Book of Life (2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-24 00:44:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2561813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blak_cat/pseuds/blak_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>María and Manolo have their first child. Prompt request.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Daughter's Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Despite the title, the song I actually listened to while writing this was Ashland's Song by Peter Hollens, which he wrote for his newborn son. This fulfills a few prompts: Manolo/María fluff and a story about their baby.

The first thing María had to do was tell Manolo, and that was always one of the hardest parts she learned from other women. It didn't seem scary in theory, it was a large bit of news, and for two weeks since the physician confirmed her suspicions she found her words stall every time she opened her mouth to tell him. At this point he must be thinking she'd developed some sort of memory loss.

The first night they were married they curled up in Manolo's bed at the Case de Sánchez. Too much had happened in too short a time, they simply slept, wrapped up together all night. In the morning María woke first and so happy to find it wasn't a dream and he hadn't been stolen from her again that she watched him sleep, her arm resting on his bare chest and his arm not pinned down by her slung out. When he finally woke she kissed him and they became husband and wife in that one final threshold.

And now 4 months into the marriage, she was 2 months pregnant.

"It's not that I don't like spending time with you," Joaquín said. "But it's also dawn, María."

She'd woken early, before the sun was even up. She detangled herself from Manolo and pulled the covers up to his chin when she saw the goosebumps across his exposed chest. She kissed his forehead and silently dressed. Sneaking out, without even waking Chuy, she headed the edge of town where she knew Joaquín would be taking a morning walk.

"I needed to talk to you where other people wouldn't listen." María said, sitting down on a tree trunk. "It's a secret."

"And Manny isn't in on this because…?"

"That's the problem."

She looked down at her hands and watched them shuffle and fidget. She'd been elated when she thought she might be pregnant. But she reeled in quickly until she was sure. But as soon as the doctor agreed with her, she headed the sudden permission from the universe to be as excited as possible. She wondered immediately if it was a boy or girl, her son or daughter. She hoped the baby had her eyes and Manolo's hair. And much like how she relished saying the phrase "María Sánchez" to herself often, she was even more excited to remind herself that Manolo was the father of her children now, that she was the mother of his.

And she wanted to communicate all of this to Manolo but she never found the words.

"Talk María, what's wrong?" Joaquín said, taking a seat on the ground next to her.

"I'm pregnant."

Why was it so easy to tell Joaquín and not Manolo? Well, perhaps because Joaquín had little stake in it, it was not his child, they would not be forever bound by the one thing on Earth that they both shared. That didn't stop him from turning pale and eyes going wide and María groaned.

"I don't know how to tell Manolo and you're freaking out which means he will definitely freak out and it shouldn't be this hard and at this point he won't find out until I have the baby and just say 'Hi, this is yours' and—"

She was cut off by a very sudden and very tight hug. After a moment Joaquín jumed back though.

"Sorry, don't want to hurt you," he said, eyes darting to her still flat stomach and laughing nervously. "Congratulations María. The Three Amigos will be the Four Amigos soon."

María actually smiled at that, and relaxed for the first time in days.

"Really?" she said.

"What do you mean 'really'? Of course, María, Manny's like my brother, you're my best friend," he said.

"I'm just nervous."

Joaquín moved to kneel in front of her.

"About what?"

"About what? About everything! Manolo will lose his mind—"

"Why?"

"Because—because he's going to be a father, and his entire world is going to change, and suddenly we're going to have a baby to take care off—"

"María."

Joaquín took her hands gently but with purpose. When she refused to look up, he put a few fingers beneath her chin and pushed up until her eyes met his. An then he smiled.

"No one is going to make better parents than you and Manolo," he said very plainly. "Manolo was born to be a father, he's always wanted kids. And you were always leading us around, making us realize when we were idiots. You've always been caring. And even better you two are in love. That's rarer than it should be when it comes to parents. You'll both love that baby with all your hearts because you love each other."

It was surprising how deep Joaquín could be when he wasn't telling stories about himself or signing autographs. But he had more than a point. She'd been elated in the first seconds of knowing she'd be a mother because her first thought was knowing they'd done this together. That's what a baby was about, coming together as completely as possible to create an entire universe made up of stars from his eyes, planets from her hair, comets from their skin.

"Tell him María, right now when you get home. If you don't, I can't guarantee I can keep quiet for long," he laughed.

She smiled, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek, gave his hair a stroke, and stood. Joaquín walked her back to town, leaving her the front door of the Case de Sánchez and she entered just as quietly as she'd left.

The house was still dark in the places where the sunlight didn't reach. In the bedroom Manolo had moved, turning to one side with his hands bunched beneath the blanket pulled up to his neck. He was still very much a sleep, his breathing was very deep, his eyes still jumping around in dreams. Chuy had found his way up from his bed in the corner of the room and curdled up close to Manolo's back.

María removed her shawl and took a breath. She kneeled in front of him and gently brushed her hands through his hair. It was always soft and thick and wavy like the ocean. He began to stir slightly at the touches, his eyes slowly creaking open. She leaned forward and kissed him until his eyes opened completely and he kissed her back lightly.

"Are you awake?" she said.

"Hmmfph," he gave as a response, blinking rapidly.

"Are you really awake? It's important," she said.

He pulled a hand up to his eyes and rubbed roughly, pinching at his nose. He sat up, the blanket falling down and exposing his skin to the chilly morning air with a shiver. Next to him Chuy gave out an oink at being disturbed and Manolo patted his head. He gave his hair a once through with his own hand before turning to María with clearer eyes.

"Sí mi amor, I'm awake," he said, yawning. "¿Que es?"

She took a deep breath through the nose and told herself when she exhaled out would also come the news about the baby.

"I am pregnant, Manolo," she said.

He looked at first like he'd misunderstood her. Then a hand came to his mouth and squeezed and pulled down, his mouthing staying open. His eyes looked down with such concentration she thought he might have been reading an invisible book. His other hand fell lazily on Chuy who gave another oink, which seemed at that moment like the loudest sound in the world.

But when Manolo's eyes finally went back to María, he smiled and his eyes were like fireworks. In one fluid motion he grabbed and pulled her in and rolled over. Chuy ran for cover while he tightly hugged María who hugged him back. It was not just like a weight had come over her chest but a garden of flowers replaced it. She told Manolo and now it was real and it felt amazing.

He was whispering words of adoration in her ear while she just pulled at him tighter and relished the smell and feel of skin.

"I love you, María," he said plainly and quietly.

"I love you," she returned.

They spent half the day in bed, Chuy wedged between them talking about names, taking bets on whose hair and eyes it would have. Manolo insisted it would be a musician, María said she didn't care as long it never set foot in a bullfighting arena. He brought her food on a tray, insisted they'd buy all new food immediately, fresh food, he'd bring it to her whenever she needed. She laughed and told him it would be months before she'd truly need that.

It had been the best day of María's life until then. There was only one day that outdid it.

In the last weeks of María's pregnancy, Manolo refused to leave her side. He went where she went, he stayed up later than her, and watched over her while she took rests throughout the day. He didn't want to miss a second and María knew he did it out of fear. He'd watched his mother die of illness and they both knew just how many women died in childbirth.

In her mind María knew as long as the baby survived that would be enough for her. But would it be enough for him? He'd tried to follow her once before, a year ago, was he older now and wise enough to resist that temptation? She thought he was, even if not right in that moment, as soon as the child was in his arms he'd see and they'd live happily together while she waited from them below.

But for now it was backaches, constant hunger, and Manolo waiting around every corner.

"Do you think it's a boy or a girl?" she said one night while she read him stories in bed. "I know they say the mother's supposed to just know but I'm not sure."

"I'll take both, one of each," he said.

"Only if you give birth to one," she teased.

And that's when her water broke.

Manolo was much more frantic than she thought he'd be. But he still managed to stay alert. He called for the midwife who had agreed to live in with them during the last few weeks of the pregnancy. The small, old woman came rushing in quickly, telling María to breath as an awful pain squeezed all the muscles of her stomach involuntarily.

"I need to get the doctor," Manolo apologized, holding María's hand.

"No, don't leave me," María said weakly through pain.

"I will be back quickly, mi amor, I swear to you," he said, bringing her knuckles to his lips and stroking her hair. "Diez minutos, I promise."

And he was out the door fast. She knew he was doing the right thing, competent as midwives were they both were going to feel better with a doctor around. But still, his absence was already getting to her and she wasn't sure she could see it through without him nearby.

"Breath María," the old woman said. "He will be back soon, we've got a while before the baby will be here."

"How many babies have you delivered?" María asked, trying to distract herself.

"Many and I've been old enough to watch them all grow up," she said. Her eyes smiled in just the right amount of warmth that lips alone could never replicate. "I will say of all the father's I've seen, your husband is among the best."

María closed her eyes and let her head fall back and breathed steadily as she could through her nose. The midwife dabbed her head with a cool rag and not long after Manolo returned as promised with the doctor who was half dressed and bleary eyed from the night but quickly waking.

"Won't be much longer now, María," he said, settling in next to the midwife.

Manolo returned to her other side and allowed her hands to find his and hold tight. It was improper for men to be in the birthing room but María was not about to let go of his hands and Manolo looked ready to challenge anyone who thought they might throw him out.

The midwife altered between dabbing María's head and encouraging her and adding the doctor. She handed her duties over to Manolo, however, when the doctor told her to finally start pushing.

"I will count to three, María," the midwife said. "And you push. One, two, three!"

María let out a strangled groaned and obeyed, her fingers pushing just as on Manolo's hand. If it hurt him, he did not let on, he simply pushed hair from her face, kissed her temple, and whispered encouragement to her.

She would never forget this pain, that much was sure. It lasted hours in the dark, beneath the stars. Perhaps it was already tomorrow, they'd have to pay attention to that to get the birthday right.

"It hurts Manolo, I need a break," she sighed. Starlight, moonlight, and candles were the only things lighting their way now. His face came next to hers and nuzzled her cheek.

"You're almost there, María," he whispered and kissed her cheek. "Just a little farther and you'll be holding your daughter or your son. Think about the little fingers holding onto yours and they take their first steps, they finally say their first word and we fight over whether it was mamá or papá, and I give them a guitar and we play songs for you all night long. But your daughter just needs you to try a little bit longer."

And she did. After the doctor prompted her she gave one finally, long push and she heard the greatest sound she'd ever heard, above Manolo's guitar, above his voice, above the most beautiful song she could think of, she heard her daughter cry.

It was a girl.

Somehow Manolo had known or hoped and he collapsed right along with María when they heard the cry. She was tearing up from pain and relief and who knows what else, around her head was a halo of dampened sheets. Manolo's own head was pressed right up against hers and he starting kissing her face all over, laughing while he did so until she finally smiled and then he caught her by the lips.

The small girl was still crying when she'd been wrapped in a sheet and handed to María by the midwife.

"Your daughter, María Sánchez," the woman said with a smile.

"Hello," María said softly to the baby. "Welcome, mija."

And she stopped crying because she knew that voice and she knew the woman holding her. Her eyes were mostly closed but she knew that hum and timbre, perhaps she even knew the feel of her mother's hands from her dreams. Her small arms were jerking every direction, but she'd given up her attempt to control them for the moment, opting instead to fall asleep against her mother's chest.

"Here, papá," María said, turning to Manolo. His eyes were glass and one rogue tear escaped.

His arms were shaking as he took the baby. He looked at her like he was made of the finest gold, like she was every rare flower in one bouquet, she was the perfect song he could never quite reach finally alive and in his arms. He didn't dare move, afraid that any fraction of an inch might hurt her. He let his nose lightly touch her forehead and he closed his eyes.

María thought of that nine-year-old boy and eight-year-old girl who ran around freeing pigs, playing guitar, pretending to have sword fights. She saw the scene of herself at the train station, trading gifts with Manolo and being aware, somewhere deep down, he was her future husband. And now they were here, they'd come this far.

María leaned up with what was left of her strength and kissed his forehead. He moved back and allowed María's arms come under half the baby as they both sat there and held their sleeping daughter.

"I'll be back in a bit for a name," the doctor said softly.

"I'll find you some water," the midwife said and followed him out.

Alone together they stared at the baby. Her skin was the dark caramel of Manolo's, it was not yet clear if the strands of hair on her head were her father's black hair or her mother's dark chestnut. Hey eyelids hid which shade of brown she'd gotten. But she was perfect.

Manolo softly hummed a lullaby she did not recognize. She saw his fingers twitch occasionally and she knew he imagined the chords to play. She smiled and watched her daughter sigh in her sleep.

This almost didn't happen because the gods were cruel. He'd gone far away from her, to a place she could not follow and in an instant she saw her entire life without him in it. But he was here, warm and breathing, he clawed his way back into life and now he was beside her, and his daughter was in her arms. She'd forever carry him with her, even if the universe saw fit to tear apart their hearts one more time.

"Eva," María said, when prompted for a name. "Eva Sánchez."

The Sánchez family flirted with death, but she was life. She came from life and she would be life from them even when the world was doing its best to bring them darkness. Manolo was alive, and so was María and their daughter was now too. And she would live forever if María could help it.

And when María was asleep in the dim light of the moon behind a cloud, Eva as well, nestled into a crib next to the bed, Manolo saw a the midwife had left her shawl behind, wrapped up in was a glowing gold marigold glower and Manolo was sure he saw a flash of red outside the window in the night sky.


End file.
